- The Lion of Lordaeron -
by PelargirMarine
Summary: A seemingly normal village boy from Brill with hopes of fighting, slowly trudges through the horrors and conflict of the Third War and beyond under the flags of Lordaeron and the Alliance. He may seem just seem like another soldier encased in standard issue uniform bound by rank but he soon finds that he is apart of something, much more big involving him. (Lorebreaking is stronk!)
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Warcraft lore or any crap, nor most of these characters.

 **Author's Notes:** This is my **first** fanfic, and it's safe to say that I had a history of writing Warcraft. Specifically about the grizzled veterans that they never mention, like the grim soldiers of the 7th Legion and the war-torn veterans from Hyjal. **  
**

If you're a total lore fanatic, then I suggest you might want to turn away, because -hint hint- some things will change DRASTICALLY within the history books.

 **Warning:** This will contain various elements of violence contained within the battle scenes. This is **not** exactly for the squeamish. Might be changed (if I can) M or something, depending on how violent it gets.

Again, this is my first fanfic. Reviews with tips would be helpful.

 _ **INTRODUCTION**_

How he hated the boring routine in the maddening place known as 'Brill'. Located just right outside of the Capital, yet no action, gossip or whatsoever. Falric, his name was. He craved for adventure, action and a sense of purpose like it was an unexplained drug.

"Falric, where are you?" His mother, old yet caring, pierced the air from the farmhouse with a melodic voice. He shook his head, destroying his fantasies that he would experience in the fields. What was he doing? _Oh, I'm supposed to clear the weeds._ He literally cringed at 'clear the weeds'. His head began to slowly rise from his knee, intaking the surroundings. Green that literally appeared to disperse over a wide field of area completed with the ocassional flower that added the cherry on top.

He loved it, going with his friends to the green at the early morning when the sun was young, playing what they called 'knights' till the said sun retreated to let the moon take over its duties.

"Falric, don't tell me you've spent your time dreaming about some ludicrous place!" His mother began to stamp through the grass, causing audiable 'pat' noises from her boots.

He turned his head quickly to face the woman coming to him. "I-I didn't, I swear!" He threw his hands up in innocence and slowly turned his lips onto a frown.

Her mother simply gave an audiable sigh and laid a hand on his matted blonde locks, rubbing it in a companionable manner and slowly opened her mouth. "My dear Falric, tell me of what you are dreaming." She gave a motherly smile. "Please tell me."

Falric could only nod slowly, his brown eyes locked with her identical. "Mother, will you make me your best pie?" His face nearly gleamed with light when his frown turned upside down. His lips were immediately shot off when her mother simply grinned. "If you help me pick the ingredients."

He gave a haughty 'fine' and crossed his arms. "Would you still like to hear my dreams?" He said with a raised brow.

The woman crouched down onto the grass and then drew her legs crossed, her eyes wide like small plates. "Quickly now." She said sternly, waving a hand.

He sighed and drew in a deep breath.

 _I arrived to somewhere else, although much like the fields of Brill in it's beauty. However, the people weren't human, elf or dwarf, they were completely different. Little blue-skinned beings with long noses that offered me praise, comfort and well-being, they were like instant friends to a traveller or a newcomer._

 _The field that they made their dwellings was green with rolling hills and the blooming flowers were present. The sun was sky-high, it offered all the warmth one could be content with. The clouds puffed the azure sky as a perfect condiment to the taste. It was all serene, all perfect, but a threat lurked from within, and every inhabitant learned to fear it right from birth.  
_

 _They told me about this dreaded legend, the populace called him the 'Dread-walker'; he was perfectly asymmetrical to the empathetic beings. A pale skin that was a sickly feeling to touch, horns that peaked from his head and made him seem taller, crooked nose that smelt all sorts of fear and discomfort and a garb of fabrics that contained numerical unholy properties within its weaving.  
_

 _At first, my heart was stricken with a pang of fear and sorrow, but a large part of it also hoped for its ending from the walking, breathing land with a searing fury-of-a-righteousness driving the cause. I did what they never could, show my defiance openly. They at first called me a mad boy outright, but they agreed to help in discreet reluctantly by supplying me tools.  
_

 _I was dressed, head to toe in their finest armour, it was gleaming metal that made my eyes betray my expectations, not only that it was strong, but they also they said about the magical properties of the armour, about the resistance against the shadow magic used by the monster._

 _The sword that my hands wrapped around was the first of its kind. Never a masterpiece of cutting steel to stand as an extraction of mutilated souls, to cleave those who want to hurt others and put them to the dust._

 _Unfortunately, the commotion was quickly noticed. The Dread-walker made its dramatic appearance by teleporting infront of me, scattering the populace to naught but a rabble of fear-touched people. My heart rammed against my ribcage as I stared down the beast, his black pupils locked with mine with a sadistic grin plastered on his face. The stalemate broke as the monster brought his two hands forward, being armed with some sort of gauntlet.  
_

 _Energies rippled from his hands and lurched quickly towards me, I jumped out of the way and threw my sword with all my might, with my eyes closed, shielded from the horror that tried to maim me._

 _And what I saw, was light before my closed eyes._

 _A cheer that released my heart from it's beating oblivion and all my body went lazy against my concious will. I slowly opened my eyes, and a fallen beast with a sword sticking out of its body greeted me. It wasn't a horrific sight, it was a welcoming sight that made everyone around me relieved of some heavy burden shown through their blissful dance and whoops._

A soft hand laid on Falric's shoulder quickly broke his trance.

"Eh, what?" His voice was rather elementary to this new world that opened before him. His mother waved a hand and patted her stomach. "Are you hungry?" She raised an eyebrow with an intrigued smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and slowly rose up to tower before the boy.

"You're good, mother, very good at making others work." He gave a sigh and gingerly reached out a hand.


	2. Chapter 1 - Royal Guard? What?

**A Captain Of The Blue Crest**

 **-1-**

A normal, sunny day was what he (and the company) expected on a deployment to Southshore, however, he received quite the complete opposite...

The rain beated on his armour like a volley of rifles, causing a dreadful noise to the ones in earshot and also soaked him to the skin. No matter how many prayers he had grumbled within the hours, the rain did not show any signs of fatigue from its continuous battering; the wraith-like grey clouds like ominous heads of warhammers in the sky ever blotting out the touch of the sun.

He was, however issued a 'raincoat' for his troubles, but it did barely anything... probably thanks to the idiotic man he knew as the 'quartermaster' who carelessly mistakened it for a winter parade overcoat. His stocky build combined with a gigantic 'lump' on his stomach usually caused a rupture of laughter in the ranks during roll call, which was quickly beaten down usually by the strict NCOs.

What was more somewhat 'droll' to him was his tendency to loose himself in thoughts and therefore barricade his body from the ever-changing world. He slowly became aware of himself. He was standing in a quiet market place with his head propped down, his hands freely hanging by his sides and his sword and board tightly strapped to his belt and back respectively. Not only that, but also he held a rank of a sergeant with mudane duties as a ranker.

"A sergeant... heh..." he quietly smirked to himself.

"Hey." A hand tapped on his shoulder. He turned around to find two lax green eyes trained on him through a helmet. Falric gingerly twisted his body to face the person, shuffling his feet lightly. "James?" His mouth slowly stretched open and made a child-like sound. James, how could he forget. He was the same-aged ranker that he had served with through the Second War years, right from the arrival of Anduin Lothar to the Siege of the Capital.

"Its the helmet that gave you slowly wits, isn't it?" James visibly raised a brow, somewhat noticable through the helmet and its shade.

"Come on, lets get to a bit of shade." Falric nudged his head to a vacant space in the marketplace, covered by an overhanging piece of house which barely held off the sideways coming rain. They both slowly made their way to the patch, removing their helmets in unison when they were secured.

James' head was not exactly kept well, obviously identified as his brown mane was vaguely hanging loose in an unorganized manner (which usually got in the way of slapping headgear on). Alongside that, he had an overgrowing forest of brown which barely curved around his mouth, what was more disturbing, however that his skin was leather rather than actual skin. One could almost say that he was asymmetrical to Falric.

After strapping their helmets onto their belts, they simply exchanged mutual looks at eachother in a companionable silence admist the deluge from the sky.

Falric soon broke the silence as he propped himself against the stone wall and crossed his arms. "So is it true that two litres of blue blood will come to Southshore?" He asked with a raised brow and a slight grin.

"What, those two lollygagging youths?" James merrily chuckled, despite his atmosphere and placed two hearty hands on his girdle and gave a smile. "Join up the Royal Guard to be sent to a quiet harbour, sounds fairly legit, doesn't it?" A sound escaped from Falric, almost a grin plastering on his face.

James gave a short nod. "And, that is how James and Falric lost their ranks for forgetting the names of royalty. A-Arthur and Jen-Jena?"

"You, sir," Falric grinned. "are dead in the Marshal's book, for real, unlike me."

"Spill it out before you sentence me to a lifetime of mess duties." James tapped his foot lightly with a brow heightened.

"Arthas and Jaina, you stupid bastard; and what, a bit of fireworks accompanied by a pint of long, dull speeches by the mayor about the glory of great Lordaeron and beyond? Highly likely." A scoff resonated over the rain, and they both chuckled in unison.

xxx

The next day appeared to be a perfect blessing from royalty as the sun shone high in the young morning. The soaked ground turned soon to dry and the birds freely chirped around Southshore. The populace was more busy than the day of the deluge in their normal morning routine of simply collecting breakfast or shuffling to work.

What really did rouse the commoners was slow-witted rumours about royalty arriving to the quiet port town. They all did cheer and hastily shuffled to make preparations (although careful not to wake up others), from free-flowing banners of good will to bewildering tunes being prepared for the arrival, all did work hard.

The blaring instrument known as the 'bugle' was usually cursed by most soldiers, for waking them from their slumber abruptly and shattering sweet, nonviolence featured dreams.

"By the - " An invisible horror leapt from the outside of the barracks and sprinted to the soldiers' quarters and into the ears of slumbering creatures.

Falric, had just realized that he'd woken up with his first words being an attempted curse, his head throbbing with pain, probably from recoilling from the dreaded sound.

A rap on the door resonated through the slits of the barred oak, accompanied with a familiar voice of the company captain. "Up and about, sleepy heads." A thick voice slowly slithered into the soldiers' ears.

"Yes sir." They all gingerly replied in succession and they all rised up for the day.

"And be on your best manners, we've got blue bloods in town." The captain paced off audibly.

xxx

The still sleepy guards were alerted at the sound of whinnying of horses and low chatter. Falric, with his head hung down to the cobble and posture almost... impeccable, slowly opened his mouth to yawn. He rose his head to be greeted with a welcoming sight of a friend, walking towards him from the cobble.

"James..." His mouth resisted to being opened in such a drowsy state effectively, "how do you do?"

"Mate, they're coming, and I'd reckon you should stand UPRIGHT!" At his last word, he shot out a flat palm to connect with Falric's chin.

An eyebrow raised at his last word and before he knew it (in his tired state), his head immediately raised upwards to a flowing royal pennant of Lordaeron. James cleared his throat and quickly shuffled next to Falric, "Aaand, they're here..."

His eyes gingerly lowered down, inspecting the vanguard Royal Guardsmen coming in mounted proudly on strong barded destriers, high horsehair brush helmets polished till immaculate and shined partisans with noticable pennants. They all threw looks of acknowledgement to the two blundering soldiers.

In response, Falric and James unsheathed their steel in a quick fashion before presenting a sword salute in rigorous discipline with every motion strict and swift.

As the vanguard trotted past forwards with their heads swivelling back forwards, more of the contingent came, the two still presenting their swords with respect and faces plastered with sternness, eventually the royals came, one being a prince and the other, a princess, dressed in outstanding fabrics of silk embroidered and on their heads, a small laurel of violet kingsblood.

Everyone, should of known the pair as they were charismatic and popular with the commoners and the whole of the kingdom in general. The prince, most identified him as 'Prince Arthas' with outright a handsome face. Chiseled perfectly as the Terenas once called when he looked into the bright azure owned by the Prince; almost 'blessing' with flowing gold locks and fair firm skin.

The princess was almost the same, with fine features including high cheekbones, long flowing gold locks and the piercing azure eyes, alittle more darker to represent the sea. All of it on a silky background of fair skin washed across.

"Ya know, how much if they go loose, missing or..."

"wild...?" Falric quickly intercepted, "Like what? When the Royal Guard Captain reported when they became missing around the Palace and very troublesome to the guards?"

"A silver, that's all I will bet on." James gave a shrug when the party passed on quickly.

Falric slowly put out a hand. "Deal, and make sure you don't get edgy around these bets." His eyebrows furrowed quickly at the word of 'edgy'.

"Fine."

And the men shook hands.

xxx

Everyone was gathered infront of the town hall, containing a grand oak stadium infront of the building itself and a row of chairs next to it. The air was like roses to a whiff and the sun still shone its last light upon the square. Lowborn commoners to well known merchants all held their hopes high for a glimpse of young royalty to cheer for while the guards... simply stayed lifeless under helmets and half plate sets.

The immaculate mayor, dressed in bright blue and white of Southshore and Lordaeron, made humble strides to the stadium, clambering up the set of stairs with a small stack of papers in his hand and with his leather boots resonating with the steps. Every pair of eyes formed on the yet-to-be-grizzled man with a great silence.

The man made himself at home with an eased stance and tapped his papers before opening his mouth, "Welcome, citizens of Southshore," he spoke out with a cheerful voice that did not move the crowd before him, "I, Mayor Henry Maleb, welcome you all to the Royal Visit of the house Menethil!"

This time, he was met with cheers and enthusiastic clapping of the crowd, the young mayor obviously proud of his speech by a genuine smile tugging at his lips. The ardent noise was soon quickly ordered down when the mayor slightly moved his hands upwards. "I present the young royals of the Visit... Arthas Menethil and Jaina Proudmoore!"

{Meanwhile}

"Straighten your clothing!" She almost hissed with her original voice of a bird's song gone, her arms flailing to the Prince that slouched next to her on a chair, in such an awful time.

The Prince simply gave a short-sighted chuckle, "Relax, this isn't another of those Palace meetings with all those nobles." He said coolly and put out a hand to counter her own.

With a reluctant sigh, Jaina Proudmoore, lady of Kul Tiras was beaten by this carefree, blithe friend that she called a 'prince'. Her hands soon recoiled back to knot on her lap.

They both had a void air completely free of human voices between themselves in the desolate townhall. Jaina's eyes darting around too self-consciously like if there was a crowd expecting her to perform something good. On the otherhand, Arthas seemed to be idly sitting with a lax posture, his body essientally slopped on the chair.

A guardsman soon popped into full view after a brief moment, strictly walking forwards infront of the two. Two pairs of eyes soon were upon him. "The mayor has called for your speeches." He rumbled from his helmet, his voice heavily accented from soldiering as his words marched out of his mouth.

xxx

Falric simply stood there, his arms like steel and legs tightened. About a second ago he sounded like they were both prisoners, sounding harsh and almost commanding, especially from the shadows of his helm.

They both slowly got up from their seats, the lady had her legs noticeably quivering and she tried to hide it from the soldier, but to no avail while on the otherhand, the Prince simply raised a brow at his companion. A small unaccounted smirk erupted from Falric's lips. Light bless him that he was issued something that shadowed his face.

"My lady, will you require medicine?" He resisted heavily the urge of laughing at his offering at the shaky legs.

Jaina simply raised an unsteady hand, "I am fine, do not worry ab-"

"She requires a whole bucket of seawater to be splashed on her." The Prince's voice unregally resonated throughout the room with a fox-like grin plastering on his face.

Her face flushed red with furrowed eyebrows, she gave a hefty shove with both hands extended to the Prince before her. "Woah, calm down." He gave a playful tone, which didn't exactly help the situation inhand.

When Jaina was about to screech the town hall to nothing but a few logs of wood (and deaf men) with logical (and ferocious) rants, Falric calmly made a succession of foot-taps as time grew quick. With a short nod from the Prince, they were soon shuffling out of the room.

The dynamic rays of dusk greeted the three as they made footfalls outside, many of the town hall scribes greeted the blue-blooded blondes with cheers of praise and bliss with wide smiles on their clear faces. Jaina seemed even more self conscious when she attempted to greet back the crowd with waves.

As they approached the stage, Falric silently edged out of the way unnoticed as he seeped into a troop of seemingly lifeless Royal Guardsmen and into the back of the crowds, his head kept down on the stone before him.

Alas, past the vigorous crowd and against a cold wall of a house, he sulked quietly with his head kept down, his mind almost boggled at the display of the rowdy male blond. The corner of his lips tugged slowly at a small smile when he recalled the Prince being a total laggard infront of a soldier.

"I wonder if he'll get me in a tangle..."

"Tsk..."

"Tsk tsk..."

Falric's ears propped up at the sound directed to him and he slowly inclined his head up an inch to find a barely kept beard. "Spit it out, James..." he sighed and upped his head to fully face him,

James stood there, his arms crossed and an eyebrow peaked with a small smirk at his lips. "Are you not supposed keep watch on them after the speech?" He half twisted his body and pointed to the stage, a pretty, yet quivering woman stood with a scroll in hand and a twisted tongue in voice. Falric lowered his brows in derision.

"Don't worry..." he said flatly like he was ordered to a week of ' _latrine duties'_ , "my commission won't go soon..."

They both fixed eyes on the stadium when the crowd cheered wildly, creating a huge blissful ruckus to them both. The blue bloods were off the stage and gone from Falric's eyes and the mayor seemed to be talking to an upper class citizen. James quietly let out a stray finger to prod Falric from his thoughts and back to reality.

"You've got a job to do, eh? Try not to get them lost..?

Falric shrugged with lax looking eyes casted to the ground. "Another time." His feet took off in a quiet shuffle amid the resonating cheers throughout Southshore. He was given way to the stage after demanding for a path to tread, he stood a few paces away from the mayor with a blank stare.

Mr. Maleb gave a barely audible cough to the man he was engrossed with earlier and he turned sharply. "Need something?" His voice was accompanied by a raised brow with a slight frown on his lips.

He gingerly nodded. "Aye sir... where did they go?"

Maleb shot a bony to a path leading out of the cobble square. "If you could make it there." He was obviously noting the fact about the densely packed crowd. Before the mayor knew it, he turned around and found Falric gone.

xxx

It was a relieving to have the precense of the sea around her. With the air being musty and every waft salty to the nose, the noise wasn't the urban ruckus, it was more soothing with seagulls chanting their last and the waves lapping over and over again accompanied with the beautiful sun setting in the distance.

She began to reach for her bag for a book, but her hand was quickly swatted away by more rugged ones. Her lips curved into a frown. "Hey, what was that for?" She said, alittle bit agitated by the actions of the Prince.

Arthas reached for her book with a slight grin on his face, bringing the object close to his eyes and away from Jaina's annoyed hands. "A Treatise on Magic - Arcane Book 1," He said, azure pupils scanned the intricate carvings of the title page before he tossed it aside like a child with ease.

The book made a small clatter on the pier before resonating no more noise. Jaina looked shocked with her cheeks flared and hurriedly rose up to collect the book. "I'm just about to go to take my tests and you throw my books around and about! What is the meaning of this?!"

The Prince raised a lax hand to ease her from moving. "Come on, just enjoy the moment," he clicked his fingers in a playful manner making her sit down, calming her down in a certain degree by flushing the red from her face and laid an arm around her.

She was hesitant but above else, she didn't resist, she found herself protected and happy in his arms. "It reminds me of my homeland, Kul Tiras." She barely mumbled, squirming to find a position comfortable.

xxx

 _Shit, shit._

He slapped himself mentally for sulking at the back of the square when he should of been guarding them. He slowly calmed down the berating, knowing now it won't make anything better.

The streets of Southshore were practically deserted as everyone was gathered for a meeting, his plated boots resonating throughout the street along with the shaking of his equipment which caused quite a familiar noise from the Second War. The sun setted quickly, he had to return back to the barracks at around ten and he still haven't found any clues yet of where they might be.

Slowly he became conscious of him slowing down due to fatigue. He skidded into a halt abruptly and hunched over, hands on knees, his chest rising and falling with every breath. _"I had just been running for around ten minutes in full plate. Light damn me."_

 _Alright Falric, deep breaths, calm down. Now think! Where could they be?_

His eyes frantically searched every spot of the street illogically, holding almost no hope, he perched himself down on the side of the road, scattering his helmet and weapons on the cobble before him in a careless manner before casting his head down to the road in shame.

W _ell, steel and thorium shouldn't break by a careless toss..._

 _Back to the topic, anyways... Prince Arthas loves... HORSES!_

His head suddenly perked up, he swooped all his kit from the ground and arranged them onto his body before kicking off in a full sprint in a tiresome full set of plate. Maneuvering through the streets was easy, the place was essientally deserted and soon, after a few streets he found himself before the only stable in town. A beautiful rectangular building for beasts of burden with finely burnished oak.

 _I'm not hearing any sound but my own breathing..._

He cautiously took long strides to a wall of the building, creating barely any noise from his equipment. He soon slipped off his helmet and lightly pressed his ear against the wood.

 _Nothing._

Cursing himself with a stamp of his foot, he slapped his headgear on without any regard for his skull and set off again, the clattering of gear almost like music to his ears while running, albeit very bad music.

 _Jaina Proudmoore - a mage intraining, but Southshore doesn't have a single mage in town or an establishment based on the arcane arts.  
_

 _Light damnit Falric, think!_

He was still running, running for his rank as a sergeant to stand in a nutshell. He was now entering the streets closer to the sea, identified by the more musty air of the sea and smell of salt...

 _Of bloody-cause!_

"The sea, the sea, the sea!" He chanted, his voice growing more excited. He sharply turned for the nearest intersection leading to the piers, almost falling over in such a middle of a sprint and quickly set off.

He hated the sea, every slimey bit of it, ranging from the vexatious seagulls who steal food for a living without remorse to the cold waters that battered Falric's skin relentlessly when he first entered stray waters at a fairly young age. Skidding up to a halt at the sandline, he squinted through the tight slits of his helmet, his eyes meandering around a multitude of piers of different shapes and sizes for two figures.

Skipping over a few deserted piers, his eyes laid soonly on two figures sitting down at the edge of a pier.

 _Light bless._

He cautiously paced forwards making barely audible noises on the sand aside from his light clattering of his equipment, eyes fixed on the outlying people never to break a gaze and risk them moving away again. Metal met wood as the noise began to resonate louder and quicken his pace. He was about ten metres away now and he swore that he could hear their very breathing.

xxx

The Prince swept his head right around, his heart ramming against his chest when his eyes told him that a guardsman was waiting for him. He simply looked on, he couldn't bare to open his mouth, he would of been in a heap of trouble from his father.

Jaina naturally let off a little worried 'are you alright?' at the corner of his ear, but he couldn't respond.

"We will go, now." The guardsman rumbled, his voice quivering audibly to resist the temptation of going full-on this troublemaker.

A shrill voice let out a small gasp, Arthas made a small turn of his head and saw Jaina's eyes welling in tears alittle bit.

He could barely stand to open his mouth, "Alittle more time... please..." his eyes were shining azure, but they seemed sad at the time. "...we are bound to our duties soon, we only want a few precious moments before we depart..."

xxx

 _This seems... rather interesting._

Falric perked up a brow under his helmet, he was almost chuckling under his helmet after his long hard years. About an hour ago he felt like a young person, now he felt like a sergeant commissioning two privates to some neglectful latrine duty. His mouth was about to open to speak a 'no you're coming with me' in a very blunt manner, but he felt a tug on his heart, like another side appealing.

He gave a sigh, _why am I doing this?_

Falric's mouth slowly opened again to speak properly this time, in a more informal way, "You... shall have your time, then." He coughed and spluttered before turning away awkwardly with a scratch of his plated head.

"Thankyou...?"

"Falric, your highness, Sergeant of the Royal Guard comiss-"

"No need for formalities," Jaina let off a bright smile in the wake of a nice gentle voice, attracting a turn of Falric's posture with a slight smile perking under his helm, "Hey! Thats my line!"

Falric sighed and muttered under his breath, "Bloody hell."

.

.

.

.

 **A.N:** May of took too long to write this chapter, probably didn't have a good theme for this one either. Think of this as an 'expanded introduction'. Next chapter, it'll be mission 3 to atleast 4 of 3k words or 3k words of mission 3 only. Heads up, first mission for the Scourge incursion is mission 3 so...  


.

Day 1001: Still writing chapter 2.  
Anyways, I'm sorry for the long time to write, exams, etc, also doing regimental stuff (Mount and Blade: Napoleonic Wars on Steam) such as 'propaganda' fanfics (also known as comedy / dark humor / memes / erotica) and of course, house work.


	3. Chapter 2 - Flurry of a Half-Pike

**A Captain Of The Blue Crest  
**

 **-2-  
**

Falric laid a tempting finger on the platter of rations, the fire was husked out from last night and the tents nearly toppled over due to a day of unfortunate wind. Sitting crosslegged opposite of him was the Crown Prince himself, eyes locked on his food like it would run away. The air was calm and the sun was high already, a good day in Spring.

Their camp on the hill was a rather nice view of the scenery, lush rolling green meadows coupled with a few pine trees in the background unwithered by Winter or naked by Autumn, a lonely dirt road was running past the hill, it was called the Northern Lordaeron Path, a road which ran all the way to Stratholme.

"Arthas, are you sure Jaina will come?" Falric's voice had grown grim over the past months, and a lot more sterner when he was promoted to the rank of captain. Arthas gave a faint smile and a wave of his gloved hand, "She'll come, but she is usually a little late by instinct..."

"I don't recall Admiral Daelin Proudmoore being late to his boarding actions in the Second War." Falric's lips curved into a smile and both men laughed.

After a few words were briefly changed, both men heard a deafening cry of an ogre ready to smash someone to bits, they both took up their kit, a gilded hammer, one dull partisan and a generic crossbow to search for the sound source, but the meadows held nothing interesting to their eyes. Standing next to eachother as a towering figure and a rather lean one, they still stood unfazed.

Falric's eyes were like a hawk, he spotted a lonely figure in the distance running at a considerable speed being chased by an even bigger one. The lone figure was making clear picture to him now, a flowing purple cloak with intricate patterns was what he saw.

"We must help her!" Arthas immediately brandished his warhammer for a good bit of action, his green voice filled with worry, Falric quickly followed, his crossbow already loaded with a quarrel.

Jaina was already unloading fire bolts into the ogre, but to no avail. Desperate for a delay, she uttered a quick spell to summon two water elements. They appeared seemingly out of nowhere to serve her will, and lurched forwards in a charge with unimidating water-like fists. The said elements, however, were quickly smashed to nothing.

The two young heirs stood side by side, their eyes locked onto the ogre which was now charging down the path with scarlet on its cheeks. The ogre made a quick feint by raising its club up and then down quickly, tricking the two blue bloods to a parry and a mana-shield, just when Arthas, the first one in line was about to completely get clobbered without a guard, a crossbow thrummed barely audibly, a scream of primitive anger boomed.

They stood there, completely fazed. A quarrel landed perfectly dead centre between the eyes of the raging ogre. Eyebrows were raised as the Captain swaggered with an unloaded crossbow into the Prince's view with no regards for the recent events.

"Captain's honour, quarrel and partisan." Falric made a quick low bow towards Jaina with a blank face, showing no expressions. It was customary for the grizzled veterans of the armies of Lordaeron to greet another with stating their rank and weapon, and even sometimes regiment and unit type.

The Lady eyed him with a raised brow, her lips could barely move to make a sound. "T-thankyou..." she coughed out and made a curtsy quickly, almost fumbling with her staff.

.

 _"Lady Jaina Proudmoore is definately a highly promising mage, and Prince Arthas, an adept paladin showing his skills with skill. But know this, Captain, they are young, green, and have experienced around twenty winters without a grim face ever. I am trusting you on seeing them home safe and sound, for you are an elite soldier of Lordaeron, once on the staff of Lord Anduin Lothar and ever vigilant. Light bless that you'll come back without any troubles."_

 _"Aye aye, Lord Uther, captain's honour, quarrel and partisan."  
_

 _._

The words of Uther rang throughout his head. Usually a soldier even in the officer's mess dreamed of seeing men like the noble and great Lord Uther and fighting alongside them for the glory of the Alliance. But Falric, he considered the old caramel-haired man a friend personally.

"Shall we get going? Northern Lordaeron awaits us." The Captain's voice was lacking any expression, grim and stern the man was after the Strahnbrad offensive with the battles being uncharacteristically quick yet brutal with the orcs in the forests surrounding the village.

Arthas nodded, glancing a quick eye towards the dead ogre that would of smashed his head in without the Captain's help. "We'll pack up the camp, and we travel light with day provisions."

The trio quickly moved to the hill and dispersed the camp, sticks were taken down and animal hide for the tents were neatly stacked out sight and equipment necessary for the journey were stuffed into a small haversack carried by Falric on the march.

Trekking on the Northern Lordaeron Path, simple sights greeted them, but untainted nonetheless unlike the Second War's forests. Oak, pine and ash, all healthy and alive to paint the forest's picture, accompanied by the song of birds and various other animals. To the occasional traveller that walked by the trio, he or she would see a young woman in violet, a young man in the armour of Lordaeron's royalty colour scheme and a footman trudging along with an unusual set of weapons for a generic soldier without character.

Slowly arriving to civilization depicted as a lonely village, the trio were slightly relieved to see some living sentient beings on their journey. Meadows unravaged by heavy banditry sported blissful children playing about, the fields of agriculture were at work and the crops were plentiful. Most people close by the road took eyes to the travelling trio, ordinary townsfolk, children, women and men alike glad in simple unvivid clothing of the middle class unspoiled by starvation. Their faces were all content and plump as they offered smiles to the newcomers. It looks like the village doesn't get much visitors once and a while.

The sheriff of the town, indicated by a light mail and leather armour accompanied by steel in a scabbard, came forth to greet the trio with a hand raised. Unweathered his face was from war, but streaks of gray already appeared in his hair noticably.

"Hail, visitors," he announced, his voice matured and thick with the accent of the middle class. "what brings you here to Northern Lordaeron?"

Jaina stepped forwards, eyes were locked onto her petite figure clad in a highly suspicious robe of the Kirin Tor. "We are a royal party from the Capital, I am Jaina Proudmoore," she pointed to Arthas and the desolate Captain who seemed lifeless, "and these are my companions, Arthas Menethil and Captain Falric of the Royal Guard."

Arthas simply nodded and stood there uselessly, all the villagers engrossed in the matter hurriedly bowed in the Prince's presence with little commotion. However, the sheriff looked on.

"I am sorry for asking for your business, then." He simply coughed, casting his gaze downwards with a pint of red fluffing his cheeks. The Prince slowly raised a hand casually for all bowing to rise up.

"Do not worry, friend." The Prince's voice was unblotted by the villagers resuming their daily routine and simply motioned for the trio to move forwards.

Approaching the sheriff, Falric gave a solemn nod with a raspy 'captain's honour, partisan and quarrel' as he floated past the sheriff, slightly confusing him a small bit.

They continued more into the village, with eyes casted straight forwards on the path. The militiamen gave small soundless nods as the party moved past them. A good handful of cottages and buildings composed of the main part of the village. At the outskirts, numerous more cottages and farms would dot the meadows, usually made out of straw, pine and wood without any intricate architecual designs. Straight forward, simple yet warm, it all reminded Falric of Brill, the day he dreamt of becoming a knight, a saviour and hero. Compared to now, he pictured himself as a grim, mud slogging footman of the Royal Guard. Hardly any 'royal' in the title as he was deployed on numerous battles of the Second War and aftermath without any royalty in them.

Making their way out of the central hub of the village, the same repetitive sight made to their eyes of dull green meadows with the occasional house dotted.

"We are approaching a bridge, or a body of water." Falric grunted out of the blue.

Jaina turned her head with an inquisitive look while Arthas poked up a brow, "What makes you say that?"

"I smelt the air a few minutes back when we made it past the outskirts of the village," he replied with a sly glance under his helmet to Jaina, "the air was fresher and more... smooth... you could say."

Taking a short whiff, Arthas shook his head with a slight smile, "I don't smell anything different."

"Well, there is a body of water ahead,"

"Want to make a bet?"

Falric made a skeptical look under the shade of his helmet, "You what, sir?" his voice was broken from the trance of expressionlessness.

Arthas' lips made a wider, more noticable smile. "A gold coin," he put on a more devious look as he inclined his head downwards.

.

 _'Men loose their pay by waging bets... and then bloody their backs when they vent their stress on a woman or fist another fellow gambler...'_

How ineffectual was the sergeant of the memorable 10th Regiment of Lordaeron when he tried to tone down the gambling problem on a particular company on the reservist line.

.

Falric snorted, giving a slight smile towards the Prince, "Fine, I'll very well delight in my victory of an earned meal with that coin,"

Jaina crinkled up her nose and almost cringed at gambling, "Really now Arthas? You're really going to bet with a thirty-two-year-old veteran of the Second War? You're hardly twenty... or something!" she spurted out with a pout on the two.

"Twenty-two, actually," the handsome rogue shot a smile in a cocky manner, ready to be assaulted again by the woman of Kul Tiras verbally.

"Twenty-two, three months and ten days," the grim soldier grunted under his helmet with a rather matter-of-fact tone, "And don't call me a creep, Royal Guard regulations to check everything on their 'clients'."

The blond-haired man pointed a fine leather-clad finger towards Falric, "Nicely done."

"Look, can we get back on the road?" Jaina looked a wee bit annoyed with their attitudes, especially with her lover in a very 'decent' way.

The two childish men instantly snapped their heads towards the road, taking up their heels to continue their advance and mission with the evergrowing fiery woman in lead. No sound ever escaped the two during the long winding path, other than the jingle of equipment and rustle of boots and shoes. A companionable silence to say the most, and the half-least as they continued. Birds greeted their ears with beautiful songs and the trees spoke of light rustling belonging to Spring.

Heading up the path, they were greeted by a huntsman's shack and the rushing sound of water lightly playing in the wind. Obviously, Falric grinned under the shadow of his helmet as a gold coin was passed gingerly towards his pockets in the bet. A crowd formed up, facing the way the party was with clear signs of mutterings and conversations in question. A huntsman, clad in rough garments crafted from crude unshaved wool, turned to face the party, no one in particular. A blank expression was on his face as he rumbled just audible enough for everyone to hear.

"Someone has destroyed the bridge on the far side of the river," he jerked a sly finger towards the bridge, obviously split in half with a huge gaping hole in the middle probably caused by an explosive or magic, "We do not know who did it, or atleast a hint."

"Is there another way to cross, maybe shallow waters or by rowboat?" Jaina's shrill voice and slight accent caught most of the people by surprise moderately.

"There is, but it is long since anyone had used it, and I think it is shallow enough to reach up to the hips if you wade carefully enough."

"Where is it?" Falric tilted his head, catching a lot of eyes onto himself by his armour, a product of veterans and Royal Guards to some extent.

The huntsman jerked his head to a stray narrow path composed of dirt leading off the main road, turning into a forest, even thicker, yet to be discovered by the travelling trio.

With a brief exchange of mutual nods, the party began to set foot into the unknown territory with unease, their weapons slightly raised, surveying each dark, unrevealing spot in the overgrowth. The path eventually began to lose its shape, the dirt running off into grass gradually, quite a bad sign for the three, especially the very sick worryguts Jaina Proudmoore, whining softly of every shadow hinging from the blocked-out roof. The growth began to envelop them completely as the shadows scuttled about, dancing and mocking the two youngest blue blooded of the party.

Falric's ears propped up at the hint of the slightest ruffle, in an instant, time began to slow down around him, his eyes scanned the growth but saw nothing. Another sound, the artificial scruffling of a boot was all the excuse Falric needed to raise his steel-lathe crossbow and fire into the bush.

The razor quarrel rippled from the weapon, producing an audible 'thump' of death, enough to make the timid Lady Proudmoore scream and the Arthas to jump abit. It punched through the bush without any bigotry making quite a large hole before landing on a flesh-tainted impact, screeching through armour and flesh in the shadows without any impurity of a killing machine. A scream of agony cried out loud before settling down to the dust, and that was all the invitation that Falric, Arthas and Jaina needed to prepare for combat.

Whipping out a sergeant's partisan like a snake and its tail, the steel-clad Captain immediately grinded his foot against the ground for a position suitable for fighting. Howling orders and taunts, leather clad outlaws began jumping out of the woods with various weapons of rusty designs, evil glints in their faces and gritted teeth as they rushed like a mob against the trio.

It was like a weave of metal and flesh, a dance of impalement and spearing as the Captain needled through fabric, or outlaws, with the utmost skill, coolness and discipline. Blood sloshing on his half-pike and armour as he withdrew multiple times with the spear, slashing through arms and hips without any voiced prejudice. Under the helmet, he only grunted robotically as he violently decimated the outlaw ranks. His eyes furrowed at the sight of a heavily-clad bandit squaring him off a few metres away, head to toe in plate armour that had rusted quite a bit that used to belong to a knight, now owned by an outlaw captain. A great bushy beard grew from the full helmet along with specks of tanned leathery skin in the small gaps of armour.

Meanwhile, Arthas and Jaina were more troubled in their advances. Dishing off slight damage while taking heavy with their spells and spell-shields. Their armour was unbloodied and they were beginning to struggle heavily, "I can't keep it much longer!" Jaina's shrill voice just made it over the carnage of the skirmish.

"J-just keep it up, and we'll stand!" The green Arthas replied with a rather desperate face, about five bandits hacking at his spell-shield with heated faces and swears.

The bandit captain squaring off Falric was quite adjourned with a hefty round shield and ax, "Heavy equipment, unpierceable shield, short axe, non-penetrating," Falric's cool voice robotically noted down over the suspense, flickering his weapon as he began to pace forwards to kill the outlaw's leader.

The bandit captain simply chuckled, "Keep the woman alive especially... she'll be a good morale inducing element..." a gruff voice emitted.

"I'll be sure to execute you with a bollock dagger right into your groin, and then a regimental colour on your face," The Captain retorted with a sarcastic tone... and the both leaped right into the fray.

Falric threw an offensive, but range-kept stab of his spear towards the bandit, which was quickly countered with an almost instant shield-parry, but the Captain withdrew his spear in a lightning fashion, almost appearing instantly to his side in a blur of speed, "Right, that's how you fight," Falric tilted his head in amusement, securing his spear onto his back straps with relative ease while sliding out a tapered sword and a bollock dagger.

"Orcish grunts, experienced in the First, and Second War never use any type of shield at all..." the captain placed his bladed weapons into a locking cross, almost intimidating the bandit to lunge forwards, "Lucky day for spearmen and partisan-armed officers apparently, still good for any type of infantry honestly, excluding the dismounted knights."

The bandit grunted audibly and moved forwards, first with sickening steps and then at a full charge, the Captain simply stood his ground with an unamused stance. When the two forces of conflict were about to collide and create a horrible mess, Falric simply jumped out of the way, provoking a sly smile under his helmet as the bandit crashed stood stunned after lunging for a second. "This is how the sailors and marines fight on deck, seax and cutlass, buckler and hanger," Falric immediately went on the offensive, a punctual stab of his dagger in the gaps of between his arm and body and with his sword parrying a desperate axe blow.

"I can guarantee that you could easily counter this method of combat, if you pick the right side..." the bandit screamed in agony, rage and pain fuelling his mad berserker-like strokes into the thin air and previous positions of Falric, who returned a flurry of combined-arms strokes towards the bandit, a dagger in the flank of a mailled thigh and a sword making a hand flare up in pain.

"It's bloody brilliant this armour, light and tough, high in protection..." Falric nimbly hopped out of a flurry of strokes again, and returning the same favour of a swift combo of attacks belonging to a sailor, fast, vicious and effective. A dagger planted into the bandit's other, working thigh made his legs go limp and motionless, prompting the bandit to stay up on his axe. The Captain simply walked with quite a victorious stride, a sword in hand doused in the bandit's blood. A few more ragged strokes to be strongly deflected, and the bandit's arms went limp aswell, falling to a kneeling position.

"I'll give you a hint next time; never use a knight's armour," Falric wenched open the bandit's visor to reveal a fraught face, a young man in his twenties but vile none the less, probably a rapist and village pillager. An ungodly stench went up to Falric's nose after opening up the helmet, very dirty bandit indeed.

A quick tilt of the Captain's head, and a bloodied dagger silently acquired shot right into the man's groin covered by thin unriveted mail, a scream of bloody pain infused with heavy agony resonated all around the forest, prompting the bandits to stop their attack and fix their eyes unwillingly to see their boss being executed by a mechanical warrior-god. Even Jaina and Arthas looked with eyes agape too wide to comprehend human body working.

Falric calmly wenched his own helmet too with an almost silent grunt, revealing a rugged man of thirties, gaunt and almost pale with numerous scars littering his face, medium brown locks glided in the howl of the forest in a ragged manner belonging to a woodsman, blue eyes shined upon the bandit with a normal expression while the soldier's lips curved into a slight devious smirk. "To the First Legion of Lordaeron!" He cried out, with a might of one's arms, the Captain forced out a partisan, a grinning spearhead pointed towards the man's face, and some people closed their eyes.

Forcing the weapon down onto the helpless man with a calm, yet unsettling expression, the point rippled through flesh and bone, the scarlet-coated point sticking out of the man's skull towards the other side. A sickening sound it made as metal carved right through helpless flesh and blood squirted out freely upon the executor, creating a grisly, bloody mess of an execution unknown to the battlefield, and only to murders.

The bandit fell with a disturbing thump onto the ground, laying lifeless with a spear sticking out of his head, coating the ground in a bright scarlet tinge ruining the shadows of the overgrowth, replacing it with a great bloody work.

Dusting his hands and throwing a half-hearted smile towards his friends, the Captain simply crossed his arms, looking expectantly for an answer from the blue-blooded as leaderless outlaws rush by to retreat from the fray, having no heart to fight a calm, disciplined warrior that just made a bloody mess of their leader.

Jaina whimpered heavily, almost crawling up to the ground face buried in her hands with an Arthas half grinning to the Captain out of amusement and patting her back with soothing words. The shadows seemed to fade all around them to enlighten a straight path back on their track. "Miss Proudmoore?" Falric began to kneel down beside the timid blonde and offer blood-infused gauntlet strokes of her back, causing her to whimper alittle bit more loudly.

"First engagement?" the Captain inclined his head to the grinning Prince with a soft tone not to disturb the woman, he obviously received a 'yes' in a form of a nod from the Prince. Jaina began to sniffle up her fear now, offering some resolve to the two men with a brief pat of her eyes to clear away the welling tears, "Are you okay?" Falric offered a waterskin, tainted by the grip of his gauntlets still unwashed.

Jaina gingerly reached out a quaking hand to accept the flask, gulping down quickly atleast a kilogram of water to out of anxiety. Her hand started to shake faster all of a sudden, a dreaded pale face going even more paler at the reaction, and Falric could only offer a slight grunt, "They put swiftthistle in the water to stimulate soldiers in battle and give them more energy."

After a brief moment of waiting for Jaina to say something from her traumatized state and cleaning weapons, the three got back up on the road, with something more than a companionable silence now. The road was more dangerous than anyone could of thought, and the road was also long and still evergoing. After making it past the thick overgrowth of a forest, they waded through a stream with grimaces and frowns after being pelted and pelted by ice-cold water, with atleast all of them falling atleast once or tripping multiple times over in the stream, only to be hauled back up again.

Clearing his belt full of weapons, Falric slowly inched onto the ground with an expressionless face, eyeing his companions who were in a normal mood now. The day began to give way to night time as the Sun slowly gave way to the Pale Lady, a full moon on this day with light in the dark for once, a welcoming sight. Starting up a slight fire and departing his plate armour, Falric sat in a solemn position, his eyes locked onto a once-scrolled map dimly lit by the fire. The two were fast asleep, and they needed it, for they were young and unexperienced. The night was very cold and the two blue-bloods were wrapped up in eachother's arms in a very comedic sight of positions, almost choking Falric once on his food to laugh out loud and disturb their rest.

The faint sounds of battle came to his ears, a common sound heard in the Second War days when light infantry companies skirmished with the enemy for unclaimed munitions, supplies and the right to loot rations off the other side's corpses. It became louder, and louder like it was real, and not a pigment of imagination. "Bloody hell Falric," he chuckled to himself and began to settle down onto the map once again...

.

.

.

 **A/N:** Good blood in there ;3

And btw; a partisan is a spear with bladed wings and bladed spearhead, so basically you could cut aswell as thrust. It could also be referred as a half-pike or a spontoon ;3

And also, sorry for the huge delay! You know, school and stuff!


	4. Chapter 3 - The 24th Regiment

**A Captain Of The Blue Crest**  
 **-3-**

Long has he marched on an empty stomach, this nigh was exactly like that. A dimly lit fire with a small morsel of bread is what he could only force to eat, his mind clearly set on the pair of blue-bloods surviving the trip. Squinting his eyes, he barely made out an intricate copy of Northern Lordaeron, with every scale set right and every curve finely detailed by the Royal Cartographer at the Capital City. Tapping with a mailled finger on what seemed to be a bank located near a stream, he nodded in agreement with himself quite oddly.

"If we're here..." Falric mused, "...then we need to take up the road to Agamond Mill, situated west..."

The sounds of battle lingered faintly in the hearing only heard by Falric, a sort of memory kept from the Second War when skirmishers battled in the Pale Lady's eyes for the right to loot corpses off the battlefield. The muffled screams, whispered gunshots and the faint clash of blades, all was there on the nights of campaigning. It was like a real phenomenon coming close to his ears, he could even smell the steel, iron, leather, the bloodied and the maimed, tortured and battered.  
He didn't dismiss it, he loved it, it was his job for a certain feeling of glory, hope and duty.

Many would see to it that they come back alive unbloodied, more or less to join the ones they love bound under the night skies of peace or daylight of happiness. The whirling of a spontoon, swirling of a blade, hefting of a bulwark, he didn't deny or testify it, it was his duty and life bound to a uniform and regimental colour.  
Cries of orders and positions, for loved ones to take them into the Light and the wailing of steel. He'd marched back and forth from everywhere known to the Kings of Humanity with battle ringing at every dark corner of Azeroth, waiting to be bloodied to bits and pieces.

 _Left company, retire double time! Centre company skirmishers, covering fire!_

It sounded too real, like about five years ago when the orcish hordes and clans plummeted with full speed towards the quiet human kingdoms up north of the Eastern Kingdoms. They came with a fiery hate, burning agony and utter devotion to the ravaging of civilization and enlightenment. Now, they are locked up in various internment camps and forts dotted across the Alliance of Lordaeron's combined lands, most noticeably Durnholde Fief in Hillsbrad and the Alliance Naval Base in Hillsbrad aswell.

Continuing with light chuckles reminiscing the old days, he then silenced his map continuing to study the map with a focused mind now.

"Captain," Jaina spoke softly in the Pale Lady's light, shrugging off an arm belonging to Arthas while also yawning quite loudly. The sudden voice made the Captain react in a bad way out of surprise, jumping up in a battle stance and sliding out an arming sword immediately with a dagger accompanied in a throwing position towards the sound source, but Jaina simply chuckled lightly with a genuine smile on her face, "Sorry for that,"

"The Pale Lady is particularly bright today, or tonight rather; what do you need Miss Proudmoore?" Falric slithered his weapons back to their respective scabbards with a lax posture now.

"Do you call on battle sounds in the distance, Captain? Or is it me being old hag Jaina hearing sounds on?" she turned around to face the dimly lit clearing around the camp, eyeing the surroundings with a worrying gaze, "Something about companies, retiring and covering fire..."

And at that moment, Falric's face paled to a grim white with a blank expression, calling upon his battle kit lying next to him by slithering some silent hands, he immediately got up with drawn steel and a horn in his other hand of militaristic origins, intricately carved with steel and decorated with linen and personal identification. Before Jaina could speak, the Captain gave her a perforating glance through the slits of his helmet, disrupting her light-hearted state in an instance, "Stay here, wake up Arthas and prepare to move out in my direction when I give the horn."

Jaina simply gave her a blank expression and then a quick nod of acknowledgement before shaking up the sleepy Prince. She turned back to the Captain after, only finding the previous spot of the metal-clad guardian.

.

Stalking off while the woman began to do his instructions, Falric silently treaded the paths of the unknown. The darkness was partly extinguished by the light of the Pale Lady, but really his ears were the mainstay of the show. The dirt ground crumbled slowly under the treads of the Captain's sabatons with ease, making little sound. The air was only filled with crickets and to the veteran, the soft breathing of the Captain.

 _Platoon, echelon formation to my left...!_

 _Present spears! Advance!_

The sounds of battle became more apparent to the Captain's ear, each suspicious step taking him closer to a sound source belonging to a field of warfare. More steps, more steps, and he could even hear the faint thrums belonging to a crossbow or a longbow, the pounding of steel upon shields, the taunting of the vanguard. More steps, more steps, he found himself walking pass a road of some type now surrounded by overhanging trees, his boots lightly patting off the surface of cobble or stone with equipment now jingling. _Why am I going faster?_

 _Because there is a battle, and I want to become as one with it._

Littering the road was corpses pointed in formationless combat, along with creatures of a foul creation. Skeletons, raised by Death Knights or necromancers probably, all set in a pose equivalent to an ambush, and then hand-to-hand combat. Kneeling down next to a fallen footman, he inspected the tabard of the warrior. Of course he found it caked with blood. He moved onto the next hurriedly with a growing anxiety in his guts never felt before. "24th Regiment of Foot..." the wind carried away Falric's voice as he muttered, inspecting a tabard with the crest of Lordaeron clearly printed on it, and a number to the top-right of the uniform piece.

Mustering up his breath, he connected his lips with the horn and blew with all of his might, producing a far and wide sound of a blaring distinctive noise enough to be heard all across the forest...

Cries of battle extinguished for a moment as if the combatants were confused before replaying its continuous loop of guttural sounds.

What appeared to be rushing figures in the distance that Falric was unable to make out, a sound distinctive to Falric's ears picked up something...

An order of retreat.

Bracing his posture into a battlestance, the rugged Captain gritted his teeth and blew the horn again, signalling for the young pair to move up and the men to his location. Drawing a fallen warrior's shield from the dead, Falric could now make the figures in the distance. Soldiers of Lordaeron with bloodied armour organized in companies were retreating in an orderly fashion, moving back and repelling the enemy with ranged weapons before moving back. "Form defensive line on me!" He shouted as his eyes met faces of weariness, young and old alike, "Captain Falric of the Royal Guard, 1st Legion!"

"You heard tha legend lads! On 'im, doubl' time!" a thickly accented voice screeched out over the mess of orders, to be responded with multiple sharp "aye aye"'s. Men rushed to Falric's side, some even looting ammunition from fallen soldiers on the way briefly. Shoulder to shoulder, shields raised, the men formed a blockade almost concaving due to the natural shape of the road and forest. When the last soldier dived into the formation for cover, the enemy drew their chase to a halt, skidding up to form an opposing battle-line clearly illuminated.

Freshly raised skeletons crafted out of thin necromantic air, with fresh battle-proven armour of limit coverage, bones protruding from unarmoured locations, flared red eyes acting as pupils and green energy as the hearts of their motions. They were all quite intimidating, but not for the fact that they were of necromantic fashion, but of their totally-silenced demeanour. The leading skeleton was clearly mounted on a skeletal horse, with more armour and brighter red pupils than the rest. The machination hefted a staff towards the Lordaeronian battle-line, "The twisting nether awaits you all..." the leader's voice was raspy yet projected over the considerable metres.

The silence was a burden to the Lordaeronians, the deep breath before the plunge into death. "24th, prepare to charge spears!" Falric cried out, and responding to the order was a secure-ment of shields, audible with a swift wind of motion blowing out onto the field. "Present, spears!" the Captain shouted once more again, and spears were lowered towards the enemy line with a gust of wind and homage to battle. Overlapping bristleheads of steel and more steel.

"Fly the colours, Command Party, and prepare to march on the drum!"

.

"Ar-Arthas, wait up!" Jaina huffed and puffed, she had been running for quite a while, and it was very tiresome. Especially with her collection of spell books. Arthas was also tired and hungry, but no time could of been wasted to respond the Captain. They heard the horn, and as they advanced deeper into the road, they heard instrumental noises of a fife and drum and the distinctive voice of Falric bellowing orders. "We must move, no stopping!" the focused blonde didn't even bother to turn his head, his eyes were locked forwards.

They both skidded to a halt when they saw a set of flowing flags clear in the air, rustled by the night wind and made clear by the full moon. A flag with the crest of Lordaeron with personalized designs and decorations, and a flag with the crest of the Alliance of Lordaeron, intertwined blades, golden shield and shining hammer. "Falric, Falric!" they both cried out and ran quicker than ever with weapons drawn out.

Rum-tum-tum-tum-tum-tuuum-tum, the drum went and the fife played an upbeat tune clear to all of the field, the men were already set in motion. The Captain turned his head quickly, but still his legs were in motion. "A little bit late." he raised his voice with a playful meaning before turning back to the front, "24th, we're having the Prince and Princess of Lordaeron and Kul Tiras. Show 'em a parade!"

"Prepare to charge 24th!"

The enemy rank started in a sluggish crude advance, their awkward robotic motions slightly decomposing the formation. In response of the Lordaeronian's music, they had a ghastly ferocious yell of inhumane voices like hounds, their sounds curdling the once-peaceful night, but not the men and women of Lordaeron, as they still kept their sturdy advance of silent marching.

The two pair of blondes quickly kicked off to set themselves in the front of the line, shifting through the lines of men until they found themselves standing next to Falric. "Good evening." he calmly responded to their arrival.

Arthas however, was a little bit less settled than the stern veteran, "Skeletons?! Where did they come from?"

"From the north of the path to Agamond Mill," a gruff sergeant denoted by his double-pauldrons spoke out being almost shoulder-to-shoulder to the Crown Prince, "The town guard of Agamond doesn't exist anymore, they fell in the battle of Mill's Run to necromancers and skeletons."

"We're what's left of a battalion sent here, two hundred men."

"Does the King even know of this?!" Arthas' face went more and more agitated by the moment of hearing a town fall to an organized threat.

"We sent a runner, but he was shot instantly when he exited the wagon fort at Mill's Run by skeletons, and now the missive has been stolen."

"Sergeant, eyes front, prepare for the charge." Falric jerked a head towards the enemy lines, the soldier instantly responded with an 'aye aye' in a disciplined manner before settling down his voice.

The advance of the skeletons grew quicker and quicker, their motions becoming infused with a lust for violence and battle. Sickening screams tossed in the air were now expanding rapidly by the minute, both sides were coming closer and closer now. The Captain turned to his friends all around him, giving a nod of acknowledgement before facing to the front and taking a large intake of air.

"CHARRGE!"

They all cheered with a great amount of zeal with cries for Lordaeron and Crown, the battle-line in unison increased their pace of a steady advance on a drum to a whole-hearted sprint. Jaina instantly summoned two water elementals infront of the skeletal battle-line with a great piercing voice of spellwork while Arthas called up on the powers of the light to infuse him with a rage of Light, his eyes of pure glowing power and warhammer imbued with the Light's retribution.

The two sides collided in a deadly, bloody, and magnificent way. Men and bones crashed against eachother like tides against rock. Men were thrown backwards with a bloody trail of their intestines and blood, while skeletons simply melted under some of the footmen's spears and shields. Shouts and curses were thrown in the air, along with blood-curdling screams that resonated clearly. Nightmares came real as the stoic men and women of Lordaeron fought against forbidden necromancy only ever told in folk-tale and rumours which weren't true.

"Keep your ground! Keep moving up!" A sergeant called from the fray, the futile success of the living slowly began to reward. The skeletons, while may be numerous and of terrifying profile, were akin to cannon-fodders.

The living soldiers began to strike further and further, the rays of light became more apparent from Arthas, the flashing ice torrents intensified under Jaina's casting and more bodies piled up at Falric's fighting space.

Thrust, swipe, swing, overhead...

Parry, dodge, counter-step...

His body was like a machine now, he wasn't a human by the heart. He was a footman, of Lordaeron, to the house of Menethil. No matter what happens to his body, or the lives of his friends around him, he was a soldier. Falric fought without word, with motions alike warrior-knights of Old Arathor. The Lion inside his body growled, and skeletons fell all around him to his collective and vigorous fighting.

Falric just kept on going - attracting many enemies and friendlies to his awe-inspiring skills. Thrust, swipe swing, overhead...  
Many blows landed on him after his worth on the field became apparent, but the Lion inside him growled, and he kept on going. A scimitar landed between his neck and pauldron after him being too focused on the front, cleaving through his mail without prejudice and perverting his flesh. "That's going to leave a scar," he immediately turned about in a blazing fashion, letting the spear loose to find its home in a skeleton's ribcage.

Two more - while he was distracted - went for thrusts towards his stomach and thigh at the same time. Swiveling around just at the right moment, Falric leapt out of the way. The blades narrowly missed the Captain and found themselves in the previous spot of the man. Drawing out his own steel, he flashed the blade in a series of strokes incomprehensible by many and the skeletons fell limp without their heads.

"Crossbow company! Fire!"

A wave of bolts darted right past Falric's head, making their mark right into the beef of the enemy fighting rank, and that signalled for the battle to clean up with one, final glorious charge.

Presenting his sword forwards and preparing to let his legs work mechanically, the Captain found himself standing with the two royals, ever ready as always... sometimes. They too were ready to join in. "Finishing move to these bastards! Sound the charge!"

A sharp trumpet note played, the gentle breeze carrying the sound far and wide.

"Advancccee!"

Then something happened.

A torrential wave of vivid green energy washed across the battlefield coming from the enemy way, passing through the skeletons unharmed with little velocity, and then speeding up fearfully.

He tried to pick up a fallen one's shield in time, but he was knocked right off his feet...

The world turn to black around him, his eyes deceived him heavily. Falric fell for the tricks played by Death, despite trying not to believe. _The Lion inside him growled._

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Arthas was hit, but not taken. The world was linked with swirly motions to his eyes, various colours dark and vivid filled his screen. "Damnit," he tried to shake his head out of it but failed. His whole body felt like giving into the blood-stained ground but he kept on persisting. He looked up to survey the battleground. About fourty percent of the men were knocked out of their windpipes or kicked dead. One of the two colours were knocked out of the eyeshot, to leave only the regimental colours of the 24th.

The Crown Prince took a glance to his companions - Jaina seemed to be getting up, in a ragged manner although, and Falric seemed -

... " _Light bless..."_

He didn't have time to check his pulse, he immediately scurried to his warhammer and called out for orders. "Form line on the colours! Shields up, and get the King's colours up and running!" He bellowed out in a mighty voice, to be responded with sharp acknowledgements from the men.

"Let's go Jaina!" he wrapped a cold hand around the woman's wrist. His voice nearly quivered as Jaina slowly descended onto the ground in response. "Jaina...?"

He immediately picked her up with ease, racing her back to the lines of the soldiers. They parted their shields to make way for the Prince and he immediately reported to what it seemed the most senior figure acting at the current moment. The commander was disposed on a small mound barking orders towards his men.

The man was unhelmeted when he arrived. Bearing grizzled black locks set in a fine manner alike to wealthy commoners. His skin tone was on the verge of being sickly pale interestingly enough although. Brown eyes that punched into men were sported on the soldier. One could estimate that he had seen thirty-five winters with his forming crinkles. Gaunt and thin was his figure armoured in a rather-heavy looking set of plate and mail accompanied by a plate faulds fixed to his breastplate and double-pauldrons decorated with intricate numbers. Arthas had to slightly incline his head towards the man - most noticeably because of his own towering height.

.

Sergeant-Major Gallaylas shook his head, observing the men in a hurried state. "Get the King's colours up, and quickly now ensign!" he barked out towards a sixteen year old boy, who recently took abroad in the military with a commission bought, "Sergeant Rikers, prepare the crossbowmen for a volley, I want you to make them fire on the word, not to pick their targets!" the Sergeant-Major's voice was gruff, intertwined with long years of winter and remarkably loud enough to make one soil their pants.

"Where's the Captain?!" His eyes went scurrying for the commanding officer and legend. He found no result but opted to continue his duties.

A woman, unhelmeted with a long river of brown tresses and young dauntless face, made herself clear by walking into his view with a critical tone, "Sarge-Major, we've lost about thirty-five to fourty percent of the men from that blast... will we-"

"Yes we will stand private, and thank you for that information. Tell the men to raise their shields and hold firm." Gallaylas waved a hand to dismiss her and she immediately ran off with a nod.

He surveyed the battlefield, a tragic mess from that necromantic blast. Many men and women were littered about the field like ants dead or seriously wounded. He immediately spotted the Crown-Prince in his regal armour, spoiled by war, preparing to carry a figure indescribable at range.

"Make a small gap for the Crown-Prince..." he muttered to a junior NCO, and he immediately took off to convey the Sergeant-Major's orders.

What seemed like seconds to the soldiers,

 _felt like hours to Gallaylas._

He inspected the ruined field with furrowed eyebrows. He counted about two-hundred skeletons, plus an officer, and supposedly an necromancer at the back ranks with powerful assistants. What did he have left to face the overwhelming tides? About fifty men, all low on ammunition, some of their weapons already blunt and most of them with a ringing headache to say for safety.

"Company - prepare for section fire. The sections shall be in tens lead by a sergeant." He bellowed out, jerking a head quickly towards a young ensign-trumpeter looking lively. At the end of his sentence, a blaring, patterned noise came right out of the boy.

The order - on opening a gap for the Prince - was quickly spread around to the center footmen of the line, and they quickly shuffled to make way for their prince. Arriving battered, torn with a woman in his arms. Their gold locks no longer regal, but perverted by the rigours of war. The once-flawless faces of the blue-bloods quickly turned into a mosh pit giving way for blood, sweat and dirt. Finely ornamented armour belonging to the Crown Prince had already lost its touch from the field. Engulfed in dirt and blood, one would quickly say without a second thought.

"Sergeant-Major Gallaylas of the 24th, serving with a sword and board - at your service." Gallaylas gave a stout salute towards the man, who nodded back in return.

"Where are the unconscious men being kept, Sergeant?" The Prince said, his tone sporting a hint of worry for the woman. Before the Sergeant could raise a finger, Arthas responded, "She was knocked unconscious by the necromantic blast-wave..." but that didn't suppress the soldier, "And Falric... he... I do not know where he is," He said with a hint of resentment in his voice for himself.

"Very well, mi'lord." Gallaylas motioned to a rather elementary fort, field-erected with scraps of materials that the men could muster. "Oh and sir," the soldier motioned a hand towards the Crown-Prince, indicating him to stop, "When the horn of retreat goes off, the fort carrying our wounded - that is our redoubt."

Arthas nodded and continued without a word, disappearing out of Gallaylas' eye shot.

"Ensign Demtera, ammunition count?" the Sergeant shouted without even looking at a certain person, he was sharply met with a young woman's beautiful pitch responding to the officer, "Five bolts a man, five rounds a minute, Sergeant-Major."

"Yes yes, you don't need to remind me of one round a minute for a rifle, three for a musket, five for a crossbow and ten for a longbow."

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Laying the woman onto a bed of hay, he turned around still clinging onto hope that the woman would make it through. Her pulse was getting weaker and weaker by the moment and the regimental medics and surgeons could only afford to mutter prayers for her - moving onto more serious wounds caused by the fighting. He stepped out of the medical tent and took a whiff of the fresh air. The redoubt was simply a circle of palisades covered by spikes. Narrow slits in between the defenses acted as the entryways and exitways for the location. The flag of Lordaeron still stood high however, marking a great deal of defiance for the country of the men and women.

Soldiers were busy readying their weapons of war. Crossbows had their strings checked, swords quickly sharpened and shields inspected. Arthas slowly trudged pass the ranks with a multitude of thoughts racing by his mind. About Jaina, his duty, this battle. He had nothing to keep his mind on, it was like the edge of falling into unconsciousness, but more of related to focus.

"My lord," the raspy voice of Gallaylas resonated vying for the man's attention. Arthas didn't even turn towards the man from his sitting position. His legs were lazily at work squirming and moving about. "I am relieving command to you, as the men are ready."

Arthas tuned up to the man with sad eyes, "A-alright," he shuddered for a moment, thinking if he was to fail, he would of spent the lives of every man and woman on seemingly nothing. He slowly lifted his body up and dusted off any particles of dirt, giving a mutual nod towards the Sergeant. The man immediately hopped off to his position within the line. "Right," he nodded at the man's leave.

 _First day on duty,_

 _Light bless me._

The unearthly screeches of the enemy side was quickly counter-attacked by a morale-inducing song of the Second War, and the battle began in full swing... 

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 **A/N:** Gallaylas will be a major character...

hehe...

Next up - something related with Aedelas Blackmoore and the Thrall plot!


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